Lakes of Malabar

"Your thinking of getting a dog? You haven't mentioned that before."

"I haven't thought of it before, but I'm thinking I might be getting one soon."

"I know what you make working for Mr. Brown here in The Lakes, Julio. It's not the house rent that kills us; it's the rent for the ground it's on and the community center."

"Which is what pays my salary," Julio said, with a smile, hugging his grandmother. "I've got it worked out." He did have it worked out, but it relied on income he wasn't about to tell his grandmother he was bringing in. He'd have $225 extra just for today. That was nothing to sneeze at considering the maintenance job only paid $500 a week.

"Good. You come home for a while after Lenny's, please."

His grandmother's interest in Julio making more and moving out wasn't hard hearted. She's virtually raised him through his teen years--and pretty much for the years before that too, and she worshipped and spoiled him. But she only had the two bedrooms here. Eight more months and Maria, his mother, would be coming out of prison. She'd have nowhere else to go but here. Consuela would move into Julio's room and give her room to her daughter. Julio needed to be out on his own and settled before then. He needed to do that anyway. A man shouldn't have to be living with his grandmother in a glorified trailer park.

"I know you'll figure it out, Julio," she said. "You're a good boy; you always were. You didn't ask for any of this. If it don't work out, there's always the couch--not for you, of course. I'm small and old; it's good enough for me. I've had it worse. Why, in the old country..."

Julio didn't pay much attention to her story. She'd told it to him hundreds of times before. But he'd patiently listen to her. He dreaded the day that her stories were gone and he couldn't hear her voice.

* * * *

"No, you needn't do that for me. You're too good to me, Julio. Oh, fuck, you're so beautiful." Julio stood by the wheelchair, naked, one hand ruffling Lenny's hair and the other one cupping the man's cheek, as Lenny took Julio's cock in his mouth and gave it suck.

They had eaten and Julio had listened to Lenny telling him about Afghanistan and how it had changed his life for all time--essentially ended his life in many ways with him not being beyond his mid-thirties. Lenny had alluded to the roadside bomb that had put him in a wheelchair, his legs useless to him, during earlier caretaking visits Julio had made to the small Lakes of Malabar prefab house, sparsely furnished to ease Lenny's mobility in his wheelchair. But this was the first time Lenny had opened up about what he had experienced, what he had lost out on in life after Afghanistan.

"A dancer? You worked in a club, dancing a pole, before you went into the army and shipped out to Afghanistan?" Julio had asked, and when Lenny said yes, he had, Julio had said, "Neat. I've always thought about dancing a pole."

"You've got the body and good looks for it; you'd drive the men wild," Lenny had said before thinking about it. "Sorry, Julio. I didn't mean to imply--"

"That I'm gay? That I go with men?" Julio asked, giving Lenny a little smile.

"Well, yes... I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I am and I do. Is that OK with you? You say you danced a pole--in a gay club? You are gay too?"

"Yes... or I was. Not anything going in that way now, of course."

"Why of course? Is it more than your legs that are bad? You can't--?"

"Well, I can. But who would have me in this condition?"

"You're still a hunk, Lenny. You still can get it up?"

"I take care of myself."

Julio stood up from the table and moved out to the center of the room. "I'd like to know how to dance. Can you show me some moves to make? Is that record player by you working?"

"Show you some moves? Yes, the record player works. What are you doing, Julio?"

Julio was stripping down to his bikini briefs. "You didn't dance the pole with clothes on, did you?"

"No, I didn't," Lenny said, his voice thick with arousal. "Here, let me put one of these records on."

For the next twenty minutes, the record played, Julio swayed to the music, taking a few pointers, but doing just fine by himself--and without a pole.

"Shit, Julio, you'd be a natural at this. You look so sexy."

"It probably would be better with a pole," Julio said. The record ended. "Put another record on, Lenny. Maybe something with a good beat to it."

When the record started up, Lenny looked up. "What are you doing, Julio? Oh, fuck, Julio." Julio had stripped off the briefs and was swaying there, erection in hand, stroking himself off to the beat of the music.

"You too, Lenny. Don't be shy."

Lenny unzipped himself and his own cock, fully erect, popped out.

For a few minutes the two men stayed that way, each half in his own world and half in the world of the other, stroking themselves to the beat of the music. But then, that's when Julio moved to the side of the wheelchair, Lenny murmured, "No, you needn't do that for me," and Julio moved Lenny's lips to his cock.

"Did you do this before? You haven't forgotten how to do this, have you?" Julio murmured.

Lenny sighed and opened his mouth to Julio's cock. While Lenny gave him head, Julio reached down and stroked Lenny's cock.

"Oh, god, Julio. Oh, shit. You're so beautiful," Lenny whispered, as Julio moved a leg over Lenny's lap, straddling the wheelchair, reached under him to hold Lenny's erection in position, and slowly descended on it.

"Oh, fuck, Julio. Oh, shit. You would do this for me?"

Apparently Julio would, because Julio did. Lenny moaned, wrapped his arms around Julio's chest, and moved his lips over the young Hispanic man's chest. His hands gripping Lenny's shoulders, Julio rose and fell on the young man's cock.

An hour later Julio was back at the house he shared with this grandmother. Her card game had wound down and the women were leaving--all but her friend, Sheila, who didn't live in Lakes of Malabar. She was a widow with a very nice, fancy house closer to the ocean. Consuela cleaned her house. Sheila was a lonely woman and the two had struck up a friendship that went beyond rich lady with a nice house and the Mexican lady who cleaned it for her.

"Glad you're home, Julio," Consuela said, as he came into the house. "Sheila here hoped you'd be back before she had to leave."

"Hi, Mrs. Shields," Julio said, reaching for one of the cookies his grandmothers card party ladies hadn't managed to inhale. "How you doing?"

"Just fine, Julio," Sheila said, giving Julio a "God, you're sex on a stick" look that Julio had seen before but didn't have any hopeful response to give to.

"Mrs. Shields has a landscaping business, you know," Consuela said.

"Yes, I know, Abuela," Julio said, going a bit tense and wary. "It's a big business, I hear."

"Your grandmother has been telling me about all the work you're doing here in Lakes of Malabar. I noticed that it really looks spiffy around here. And she told me you have been studying landscape management at the college--they've got a good program in that."

"She's got some openings, she says--even at the supervisor level," Consuela broke in to say. Julio couldn't help but notice that excitement and hopefulness in his grandmother's voice. He had no intention of going to work for Mrs. Shields. He knew she was looking for more than a landscaper worker or supervisor. But his grandmother was sounding so hopeful.

"Yeah, it won't be long before I've got an associates degree. I'd like to finish that before I start looking for some other job. When I'm seriously looking, I'll be looking for a career, not just a job."

"So, maybe you'll let me know when you're ready, and you can apply at Shields Landscaping?" Mrs. Shields asked.

"Mr. Brown isn't paying you near enough now," Consuela interjected.

"Yeah, thanks, Mrs. Shields. Thanks a lot. We'll see after I get my associates degree. Mr. Brown says he'll pay me more when I had a degree, though, so we'll see." He smiled at them both. They both smiled back, thinking that some progress had been made here. Julio went into his bedroom while the two ladies went over to the front door to begin their ten-minute ritual of saying good-bye by bringing up topics they just had to talk about but hadn't brought up in the previous three hours they'd been together.

As he moved around his bedroom, getting ready to take a shower in the small bath and laundry room connected both to his bedroom and to the main kitchen and dining room combination, his thought was, You have no idea what Mr. Brown pays me for my job here, Abuela. I have no intention of working for Mrs. Shields and giving her the service she really wants.

* * * *

It was 10:00 p.m. when Julio pulled out his old Mustang and drove north into Melbourne, across the 5th Avenue bridge over the Indian River to Indialantic outer banks on the ocean and back down to Atlantic Street. On Ocean Avenue, he turned west again, parked in a closed pizza joint parking lot and walked back to Atlantic Street, with its big mansion on the beach at Ocean Park. Picking out two houses that were dark, he walked between them down to the beach and then north again until he was on the dunes opposite the house he was looking for.

The house was lit up like a Christmas tree and was mostly glass and decking on the ocean side. He'd brought a blanket and a six-pack of beer. He boldly walked down the side of the house to the top of a wooden stairway and walkway across the dunes to the flatter sand. The beach was closed at this time of night, but not to Julio. He picked a spot where he was near the top of a dune, hard to see from the beach but easy for him to see both the ocean and the lit-up house.

For an hour he watched the family moving around in the house--a big black man in his early fifties, but a bodybuilder type. The woman was white and a trophy wife blond. Three kids from lower teen down to kindergarten age were bouncing all over the house until a little after eleven. The children went to bed first, with lights slowly going out on the second floor, in all but must be the master bedroom, as, after the black guy and the blonde drank for a while on the first-floor deck and did some necking and petting, the first-floor lights went off one by one as well. Then it was only the master bedroom.

The couple went to bed but not to sleep, and they didn't turn the lights out. Julio settled down to watch, pulling his T-shirt over his head and his shorts and briefs off his legs, sitting there, cross-legged, and watching. He could see the foot of the bed. The black man, his back to the window, was naked. Body muscular and perfectly formed, he was heavy but carried it in all the right places. His back muscles bulged but tapered down to a relative narrow waist. Below the waist he flared back out to bulbous glutes. His thighs bulged and his calves were muscular. He was crouched over the foot of the bed. Two shapely, raised and spread white legs rose in a V from the other side of the black man's buttocks.

For twenty minutes Julio watched the black guy fuck the blonde in that position. He sat on the blanket on the sand dune, the sound of the surf behind him, and he masturbated to the image of the big black bull in the ocean-side mansion on Atlantic Street fucking a blonde woman. He wasn't a man fucking a woman that had him aroused and coming across to the outer banks to stroke off. It was watching the butt cheeks of the big bull, moving back and forth and clutching and releasing. He could tell, by the increased intensity of the thrusts and the black guy arching back, thrusting harder, when the climax came. He worked on timing his ejaculation with the man's. He had practiced this before. This time he succeeded. As the lights went out in the master bedroom, Julio sighed, laid back onto the blanket, and dozed off. It was after 1:00 a.m.

He woke to the feel of the hands gripping his ankles, and turning him onto his back on the blanket. The hands were strong and brown. Julio looked down between his thighs, which were being parted, his legs being bent, his feet being pressed flat into the surface of the blanket, which gave way to the loose sand under it, and he could barely make the man out against the dark blue sky over the ocean. The man was black, massive, muscular, a black bull.

Julio moaned and whispered, "Fuck me. Put it in me. Fuck me good."

The man's cock was huge, in half erection. Soon, though, after the man had saddled himself on Julio's chest, held the young man's arms out from his body, pressed to the sand, and fed his cock into Julio's throat, he was in full erection. Then the man moved down Julio's body to stand between the young man's legs. He reached down, grabbing Julio by the waist, and pulled the young man's pelvis up to his groin. He worked his huge cock inside Julio's channel, as the young Mexican groaned and panted, and, Ralf Brown, the owner of the Lakes of Malabar retirement community and Julio's boss, gripping Julio's hips between his hands, moving his bulbous glutes back and forth, the mounds contracting and releasing, fucked Julio in long thrusts for fifteen minutes before releasing his seed.

Julio had every reason to think that Mr. Brown wasn't going to fire him anytime soon and would give him a great deal on the ground rent and community amenities fee on a prefab house at The Lakes that Julio decided to rent just as soon as it suited him to do so. Julio would move out of his Abuela's house as soon as his mother got out of prison, but until then he'd tell her he couldn't get his own place yet--Consuela was getting on in age and sometimes didn't remember to turn the burners off on the stove. He'd stay with her until she didn't need him anymore even though she didn't realize that she needed him--or someone--with her now.