Tales of Carlitos, the Mexican Factory Worker
Chapter 1: Catholic Love
"Hey Carlos, can you do me a favor and take a set of car keys to my wife? I can't take any more time off or I'll get fired."
Billy had taken off three times in the past month to deliver car keys to his absent-minded wife and couldn't risk asking for yet another early lunch break. His supervisor looked at him suspiciously the third time he had asked and had suggested that Billy plan his time better. After the third emergency call from his wife for a supermarket parking-lot rescue, he had made several extra sets, one specifically for her purse. That was obviously to no avail; he had just started his afternoon shift when he received a fourth call for help.
Carlos had just finished his shift at the factory and was happily showering when Billy received the call. Billy trusted few of his dead-beat co-workers but had recently begun to confide in Carlos. Sure, Carlos was Catholic, but at least he had religion unlike the others he worked with. In addition, he had a wife and two kids in Mexico. He was a family man. Most of the men at the plant worshipped cigarettes and beer. He wouldn't let those godless creeps near his wife.
In the shower, Carlos' eyes widened and prick lifted when he heard the request. Turning to hide his burgeoning hard on, he maintained his wide-eyed wonder to show acceptance.
"Sure, Billy. No problema. Your wife, is she at home?"
"No," answered Billy. "She's at the supermarket. Do you mind? I've got an extra set of keys. You don't need to bring them back here."
"No problema, senor," Carlos responded gleefully.
On his way to the supermarket, Carlos tried to imagine what the wife of a born-again Christian would look like. "Probably fat and ugly with boring American plain clothes," Carlos thought.
He had heard in the lunchroom that Billy had never seen his wife naked. Americans! How can you make love to a woman with seeing the curves of her hips, her cunt full of curly hair, the hardened nipples of a woman ready to spread her legs for your wet, sticky love. Americans are so boring, Carlos thought. Just god and work and no fun, no pleasure.
At the supermarket, Carlos discovered he was right - Billy's wife was wearing plain clothes. But she was not fat and not ugly. She was petite and blonde, sweet and lovely. She looked tastier than tacos al pastor.
"Thank you so much," Billy's wife Angel said taking the keys gratefully, breathing deeply from nerves. "I don't know what's wrong with me, locking my keys in the car all the time."
"I know what's wrong with you," Carlos said boldly, his big brown eyes wide and challenging. "Your husband does not love you enough so you want him to come and save you."
Angel gasped, stunned.
Carlos continued, "You want him to come and find you and show you that he is a man."
Angel could not speak. She stared at this crazy Mexican, chest hair popping out of his shirt wherever it could, like grass through cement, a large gold cross dangling in the unruly kinks of chest hair. Angel looked back to the large brown eyes, the full lush head of brown hair, ready to tell this foreign devil to go to hell.
Carlos interjected before Angel could speak. "Your husband does not know how to make love to you and so you are angry. I can see it in your eyes. You want his attention."
Practically paralyzed, Angel continued to stare. He was right - she wanted more but couldn't ask. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be Christian. It would be selfish. The force of the truth hit her like a sword and, as though injected with truth serum, she finally muttered against her will, "You're right."
Carlos took the keys from Angel's hand, opened the car door and led her inside. "Let me show you how a man should treat a lovely woman like yourself."
Nervously, Angel glanced in all directions while Carlos led her into the backseat. With the skill of a knife thrower, Carlos unbuttoned the shirt of this shy, inexperienced wife while she panted from fear and excitement.
"Love is nothing to fear, mi amor," Carlos murmured.
Unleashed from the cage of convention and the ropes of guilt, Angel ripped open Carlos' shirt and dug her face into his chest hair and groaned, "let's do it now."
"Do it?" Carlos said, stunned. "What's 'it'? Why can't you say the word?"
Shy from a lifetime of religious indoctrination, Angel looked away. "Let's have sex now."
"Have sex?" Carlos challenged again. "That sounds like a chore." As he said this his kissed the nape of her neck, put his hand on her breast.
Turning to look Carlos in the eye she said, "Fuck me now."
"Fuck you now?" Carlos replied. "But I have not yet tasted your pussy."
"But he never, I never . . ."
Carlos licked Angel's nipples until they were hard. Using the confines of the small backseat to his advantage, Carlos moved and swayed to mental salsa music while he licked his co-worker's wife from neck to belly. And then some. He began to remove her jeans.
