Chapter 4 - Something Red
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Time was at a standstill in the interior of this cafe in Ottawa. Rachael tapped at the sheaf of papers under her, still waiting to be signed. Our coffees had arrived in the middle of my last retelling, and while she had mostly finished hers, I couldn't bear to touch mine. I thought I'd vomit.
It was becoming colder in here. The late February chill threatened to settle in my bones. I wanted to let it. But I took my mug, still at least warm to the touch, and fussed over it. I was otherwise still in the storm of Rachael's furious silence.
"You know," Rachael said through a half-angry, half-sad grimace; "I really wish you'd just told me that was the last time." I nodded morosely in recognition. "That...that you'd just fucked him once and gotten it out your system. But there were other times." She sniffed. "As we know."
"As you know," I offered helplessly.
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Against my better judgement, I kept meeting Mr. Rodriguez. I wish I could say something like, "I didn't mean to!" or "it was all his idea!" but it wasn't. And I did mean to. Every time I would swing by Mr. Rodriguez's area after work, it was to pick him up so we could have sex. Our illicit version of sex, concealed in shadows, or in the cheap, crusty light of 1-star motel rooms that we only used to fuck in.
Those, I hated to say, were the places I liked having sex with him the most. Wrapped in the safety of terrible smoke-stained wallpaper, we were anonymous. We melted into the night with others who no doubt used these motels for exactly the same thing. And he could moan and scream as loud as he liked.
It was so anti-romantic. I needed it to be. Because with the ease that I could lose myself in Mr. Rodriguez's aura, I needed the sickly surroundings to remind me where I was. In the blind spot of my wife's knowledge of me. With another man. My cock hilt-deep in his asshole.
For his end, Mr. Rodriguez was getting more used to me fucking him. I could tell he wasn't exactly much of a bottom before we started what we had, but he became more responsive to what I wanted from him. Me, too. I knew how to make him squirm even better now, though he wasn't a closed book. He told me what he wanted, often. "Grab my ankles while you fuck me." And, "Please, choke me."
God. He was my personal poisoned chalice, and I was drinking so deeply of his wine, I didn't think it would kill me. I pictured his wife Nitya's reaction. Her flinty brown eyes going wide at the realisation that I'd turned her husband into a bottom. That I fucked him hard and raw like I was trying to get him pregnant. Maybe I was. I was delirious around him. Not myself. Or, came the dark, scary thought; this is who I am.
Speaking of Nitya, she, at some point during the summertime, had arranged a birthday party for their youngest daughter, Alia. She was turning ten. Of course, they invited us and Bailey over. Now, Bailey, at seven, was still quite a bit younger than the Rodriguez girls, but she still insisted that she had to go. Fine by us. There were gonna be a whole bunch of kids there anyway.
I think it was July that Alia's birthday party came around, and it was being held at a rental hall in Nepean. I could hear a fucking gaggle of kids screaming and running around. Mrs. Rodriguez greeted us at the door, looking comfortable outside of her office clothes, if not tired. I chuckled inwardly. Been there. Rachael, Bailey and I hefted the gift for Alia and the gigantic Costco cake we'd gotten, and she ushered us in.
"You really didn't have to get another cake, guys!" she was saying, brushing her silvery brown hair out of her face.
"We weren't sure how many kids were coming!" Rachael offered, giving Mrs. Rodriguez a hug. They were close, I could tell, more than just coworkers. A bubble of joy came up in my throat watching them embrace like that. Seeing Rachael happy...
I reached down and patted Bailey on the shoulder, brushed a stray hair out of her face. "Sweetheart," I told her; "why don't you go and find Alia, give her your gift?" She gave me a wide, toothy grin.
"Okay, daddy!" She gave a bubbly look to her mother and Mrs. Rodriguez, and she was off. She melted into the gaggle of kids, and I lost sight of her. Beside me, the two other adults shared a soft laugh. Kids!
"Where's Aaron?" Rachael was asking her. And I couldn't help but catch the slight twinge of Mrs. Rodriguez's mouth, like she was about to frown. Hmm. As quickly as it came about, she composed herself, and smiled. But her eyes...were so dangerous.
"He's dropping off Pia at her friend's place," she replied. "This party was going to be 'too kiddy' for her!" Rachael laughed at that. "He'll be back in ten or so minutes."
Ten or so minutes, I thought, privately, in my darkest thoughts. I could deal with that.
The rental hall was unofficially sequestered off into a kids' area, and an adults' area. Women that I guessed were the family and friends of Mrs. Rodriguez, among multiple others, were all chattering together as they gathered by a far wall. They gave this small army of kids--mostly girls--a wide berth to play, scream and roughhouse with one another. The birthday girl, Alia, was a real powder keg of energy.
But I was growing bored of this. Deep in shallow conversation with one of the kid's moms, I found myself glancing at the door frequently, willing Mr. Rodriguez to appear. I wondered how he'd dress. I imagined loose jeans, and a white shirt, stained slightly with his sweat under the summer sun.
When he finally showed up, the view was even better. He strode in, clad in a dark grey tank top and khaki shorts, so I could see more of his long, toned limbs. The salt-and-pepper fur that coursed up and down the entire length of him. My breath caught in my throat. He was so sexy in his simplicity.
He greeted the other parents, then Rachael, then me. "Sorry I'm late!" he offered, his smile wide, genuine. "I was taking our eldest to a friend's place. She thought this party was--"
"Too kiddy?" I offered. He looked at me, and I smiled. "Nitya already said so." The other parents shared a knowing laugh at that one.
"Like you read my mind, Mr. Aguinaldo," said Mr. Rodriguez with a broad grin.
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I don't remember the exact words I used that bought me the excuse to go down into the rental hall's basement with Mr. Rodriguez. Something about finding more tables for the kids to sit and eat at. Either way, it was him and myself in the dingy basement of that place, used only as neglected storage.
Everything was dark, dusty, and filthy with cobwebs. The only nice thing about this level was the bathroom, its stark light shining like a beacon into the gloom. Of course, neither of us cared about that. Free of pretence, Mr. Rodriguez took my wrist and led me, somewhere in the darkness that I didn't know. Maybe he'd been here before. Other birthday parties for his daughters.
He turned around and put a finger surreptitiously up to his smiling lips. Before us was a set of wide doors, marked STORAGE B, and when he opened them, I saw all manner of random crap in here. Tables, chairs, cabinets. Boxes that made skyscrapers in the dark. At the far end of the room was a rolling steel grate door; a dingy red light illuminating a sign that said BOILER. All of it was lit up by just a single weak white light.
The shadows in this room were deep, and embraced the two of us with the promise of secrecy. I looked at Mr. Rodriguez, his eyes glimmering with wicked intent.
"How much time do you think we have?" I asked him.
"They're gonna be up there wrangling those kids for a while yet," he surmised, taking my hand and pulling me further into the dark of STORAGE B. Behind a wall of cabinets, there lay a handful of neglected tables, one of which was upright.
He wasted absolutely no time. Mr. Rodriguez pushed me onto the only table, and went immediately for the waistband of my shorts. There were plenty of times when our sex was mostly foreplay, when we'd bring each other to the very edge of our respective orgasms, and pull back, and repeat ad nauseam. I loved those times. But here, bathed in the secrecy of a dingy storage room, with time racing against us, the excitement was already at a maximum.
I thought of the first time he'd sucked me off, at that office, in the dark. I smiled a little.
Now, Mr. Rodriguez had fished my cock out of the underwear it strained against. He dove down hungrily onto my dick, and the contours of his mouth were so familiar at this point. He barely hesitated, taking my length and girth all the way down now. He felt fucking incredible.
My shorts were down to my ankles now, and he slipped one leg out of them. Groaning, I laid back, giving him a view of my ass and my hole I knew he desired greatly. Up until now, I hadn't let him fuck me. I think I was much too proud to. Or I had been...lately, I'd been opening up to the idea. He was no slouch when it came to his cock. I know he could turn me into a whimpering mess of a bottom if he wanted to.
Now just was not the right time, though. But fuck if it didn't feel truly amazing the way Mr. Rodriguez lapped at my balls and taint. He was so hot, a fire so terribly clear in the stuffy dark of this room. He even licked at my hole with as much of the same fervour I had when I ate him out. Fuck. I really did want him to continue forever. But we didn't have forever.
I put a hand on his chin, feeling the spit that dripped down his stubble. "Mr. Rodriguez..." I gasped out; "we've gotta cum. Soon."
Lit up by the red light to our right, the smile he gave me in the dark was carved in devilish shadow. He looked truly sinister. Unholy. "We've got time," he whispered, low and throaty. "Don't you worry." And he went back down on me. It was torture.
I tweaked my nipples to the rhythm of his sucking, and found myself caught in a current of immense pleasure. With his wide hands, he'd reach up and plant them onto my belly, grasping but finding no purchase. I loved the way he massaged me, how my body rolled under his desperate touch. Like he did, he at some point fished his own cock out of his shorts and was furiously jacking himself off.
My orgasm was approaching. I was nearly there. That was when I heard a door open, from somewhere far away. Fuck!
